Social

Episode Twenty-Seven

14 Weeks

The day of the wedding

“You are not obliged to say or do anything unless you wish to do so,” Inspector Wesley Manning says across the table to Dustin Harris, “but whatever you say or do may be used in evidence. Do you understand?”

Dustin Harris rolls his eyes and sighs heavily. “Yes.”

“We’ll get started then,” Inspector Manning says, opening up the large folder of paperwork in front of him. “Can you please state your full name and date of birth.”

“Dustin James Harris. 19th of May, 1925.”

“You’re 90?” Inspector Manning asks, almost surprised.

“You were expecting me to be older?” Dustin says mockingly.

“You’re fit for your age,” Inspector Manning replies, before adding: “You were born in Peppercorn Patch?”

“Yes, to Lillian and Phillip Harris – both English migrants who moved here to work as labourers on the peppercorn farm.” Dustin smiles faintly, thinking about his parents. “They were hard workers. The true founders of this town.”

“What happened to them?” Inspector Manning asks.

Dustin shakes himself from his memories. “What has all this got to do with my parents?” Dustin pulls his handcuffed hands up to show the police officer in front of him.

“Just answer the question.”

“My father disappeared in 1942,” Dustin says, pausing briefly. “I was 17 years old. My mother was so distraught she killed herself.”

“Do you know what happened to your father?” Inspector Manning asks.

“He was murdered.”

“How do you know that?”

Dustin Harris looks across the table to Inspector Manning and a wide smile erupts on his face. “I met his killer, Inspector. I know who killed him.”

Five and a half months earlier

The sound of his mobile vibrating on the bedside table wakes Sergeant Michael Anders. He pushes the bed covers back and reaches for his mobile phone. It is early in the morning and he has only had 4 hours of sleep.

“Sergeant Anders,” he says into the phone as he answers it.

There is a sound of heavy breathing on the other end of the line, followed by a click as the call is ended.

“Bastard,” Sergeant Anders cries loudly into the phone.

“Not again,” a voice comes from the other side of the bed.

“Someone’s trying to play games with me,” Sergeant Anders throws the covers back over himself and nestles next to his companion. “They don’t know who they’re messing with.”